I hear, not far off, the sad lament of a nation,
a people bereft of station,
and of the solemn liberty they formerly possessed,
with which they were blessed;
they tread the road of dread;
for they’ve the broad way and the wide gate wed.
Such a people can no longer
hear the sound of hope,
regain the vision of such beauty,
or with moral strength elope.
For freedom they no longer hunger,
or crave the founding mores;
for their burden it no longer bears,
serves not their cravings,
not their cares;
they imagine no resolution in eternal wonder
as once was painted, by the scores.